


Spewing Flirtations

by MirkatManor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Fluff, Harvelle's Roadhouse, M/M, but like in a cute way, just read it you'll get it, sorta fluff, there's vomit and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:35:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirkatManor/pseuds/MirkatManor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean was working at the bar one night when he found him. Well, more fell on than found. Well, more spewed on, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spewing Flirtations

He'd heard someone say, once, that a good way to lessen one pain is to introduce another.

The steady burn of alcohol down Dean's throat proved that theory right.

He grunted as he polished off the last of his latest glass, and looked up to see just over five feet of blonde judgement staring back at him from her place behind the bar.

“It ain't prohibition anymore,” Jo said, staring down at him. “The booze isn't going anywhere. No need to drink it all now. Besides, you shouldn't be drinking before your shift.”

In response, Dean threw down a twenty dollar bill.

“You're damn lucky I'm broke,” she said, dejectedly taking the offered money and pouring him yet another glass.

“Is that why you're wearing... what you're wearing?” Dean asked, prompting Jo to look down at her near-criminally low-cut dress.

“Tits for tips, I always say.” Jo said, smiling to a middle-aged man on his way into the bar.

“Why are you giving that erectile-y dysfunctional man false hope, you vixen?”

“'Erectile-y'?” Jo repeated, laughing. Dean shrugged. “And, hey, what they'll never get won't hurt them.” She relented. Jo changed the subject as she saw Benny take a seat at the bar. “Anyway, what's got you drinking like it's the end of the world?”

“For those of us without tits, we gotta fake real interest.”

“Tell me if I'm reading this correct, brother. What you're really saying is that you gotta get drunk enough to flirt with everyone... and I mean everyone during your shift, for the soul purpose of getting paid.” Benny offered.

“You make me sound like a two dollar whore.”

“You aren't?” Benny asked.

“C'mon, I'm worth four dollars, at least.”

“And you get pissy at me when I smile, you slut,” Jo said to Dean, to which he stuck his tongue out.

“Anyways, my shift's over. You're up.” Benny stood up and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Does Ellen really let you work drunk?” Benny wondered.

“Hell no, man. I can just hold my liquor.” Dean tapped the bar between him and Jo, silently asking for one more glass.

“Fine. Last one,” Jo said, “and only because the image of you stumbling around this place is hilarious.”

Dean swallowed it down and got up to man the floor. The Roadhouse, as it was called, didn't have a specific dress-code for employees, so Dean threw on his black apron (his very manly apron), and took over Benny's place.

…

As the minutes ticked on and on, Dean felt the need to get more and more drunk. He kept approaching the bar, and, eventually, what had begun as full glasses turned into quick shots of tequila. Although the taste made him want to rip out his esophagus, the numbness was just enough to get him through the night.

Eventually, however, the pleasant numbness turned into a dizzy churning in his stomach. He continued to take orders and make small-talk like his life depended on it, even though his world was just a bit lopsided.

It was the sight of someone's nachos that did him in. There was just too much cheese.

Dean toppled over a table and proceeded to violently vomit into the cheesy nachos.

After a few more heaves, he registered someone running up to him from behind.

“Jesus Christ, I told you stumbling was funny, not puking,” so it was Jo, then. Great.

Then, Dean heard the sound of another heave. He was fairly surprised to find it didn't come from himself.

He looked up to see a man covering his mouth, his blue eyes attempting to focus anywhere but the soiled nachos.

The man swallowed something, shut his eyes tight, and lowered his hand from his mouth. “I'm sorry,” he said, “when other people throw up, or when I think about throwing up, it makes me...” He covered his mouth again, and, after a moment, deemed himself okay. “Never mind.”

“I'm so sorry, sir.” Dean heard Jo cut in. “I can get you another plate of nachos.”

“No, no... That will certainly not be necessary,” he said.

Dean fell over and collapsed into the man's lap.

“Dean!” Jo yelled, angry.

He groaned.

“Dean, get the Hell up!” She continued.

“You don't s...scare me.”

“I'll get my mom.”

Dean was up faster than he could say 'erectile-y dysfunctional'. Which, admittedly, is not the fastest thing one could say, but, hey, he was still pretty out of it.

“Get to the bathroom.” Jo ordered him.

“Yes, ma'am,” Dean began to walk in what he thought was the correct direction.

“Goddammit, do I need to take you to the bathroom? Do you want me to change you, too?”

“I could walk him there, make sure he's alright.” The victimized nacho man said.

“Come on, guys, I'm fine.” Dean said, politely smiling to each customer as he passed by their booths.

“Would you mind?” Jo asked.

“It's no problem.”

“Great. You go be a good person, and I'll take a picture for future blackmail.”

The man strode to the table that Dean was hopelessly balancing on and wrapped his arm around his waist.

“So, your name is Dean?”

“Mm,” he mumbled, affirmative, and they started walking. “You smell like puke.”

“And whose fault is that?”

He had him there. “And your name is?”

“Castiel.”

“That's a weird name.”

“I'll go ahead and attribute that rudeness to your especially vomit-y state,” he said, holding open the bathroom door.

“Oh,” Dean said, letting go of Castiel and walking to the sink. “I'm sorry I puked on you.”

“Well,” Castiel reasoned, “it wasn't quite on me.”

“Then I guess I'll have to do better next time,” Dean said, playfully.

“What?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah, maybe that wasn't the best thing to say.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You have puke on your shirt.”

“Damn it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys so this is just a little ficlet thingy right now and I'm not sure if I'm gonna continue it or not. They didn't kiss or anything (sorry about that), but I thought it would've been kinda gross since Dean would taste vomit-y and then Cas would vomit and it'd just become two guys one cup and no one wants that (at least I certainly don't). If you'd like me to continue it please leave some kudos/comments and let me know! Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! :)
> 
> P.S. I hate this title with a burning passion. It's just in as a place holder. Maybe I'll come up with something better later. Hopefully.


End file.
